


A Lesson In Romantics

by roliver4



Series: The Skate Park Chronicles [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Budding Love, F/F, F/M, Foster Care, Punk high schoolers, Skater Lexa, Slow Build, Slow Burn, little babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8615989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roliver4/pseuds/roliver4
Summary: Azgeda attacks the TriKru homebase, Polis, and while the others are planning their attack, skater punk foster child Lexa Forrester is forced to face some feelings with the help of private school failure Clarke Griffin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys,  
> as returning to the course that I wanted this serise to take, this was all written in 1 setting.... and I apologize that the setting was at about 3am during an Overnight shift so I'm sorry if it's not the best haha. thanks again for another read!
> 
> Written to A LESSON IN ROMANTICS: by Mayday Parade
> 
> add me on tumblr because I love friends!!!: ROLIVER901.TUMBLR.COM

“I’m missing three halves of my socks and two pairs of shoes. Don’t ask me how I’m doing,” I shout at Lexa, her hands throwing themselves into the air quickly as she storms off. Still crouched down, I continue sifting through the tattered remains of my backpack, picking up one torn or broken item after another, carefully avoiding the blue spray paint that littered each item. “What the fuck,” I growled into the rubble, standing and quickly throwing the shirt in my hand into the pile of wreckage. “Lincoln, how’s the gear?” I shout across the warehouse, turning back to look towards the lockers that we had just cleaned out last week, filling them with skate gear and clothes.

 

“Everything’s fucked,” the larger man yells, wiping a small, metal box on this white wife beater before throwing it across the room, the echo clicking through the warehouse multiple times before it silences again. “Those Azgeda shits are going to fucking die.”

 

Bellamy rolls into the warehouse door, breathing deeply as the sweat beads down his cheek, tracing lines past his jaw and into the collar of his black tee-shirt. “What happened?” he asked, removing his helmet to reveal shorter hair gripping to his forehead. Normally, I would comment on his hair cut-- probably insulting him or making some ill-planned joke at his expense, and normally he would reply back mocking my mother or my privileged up-bringing, but if the spray paint on my hands and the destruction around us indicated anything it was that today was not a normal day. “Woah,” he exclaimed with shock, lowering his bike to the ground, “Octavia wasn’t kidding.” He made his way into our recently cleaned warehouse, treading gently through the broken glass and chaos that Ontari and her fuckers left behind. “I mean, she told me it was bad,” he shook his cracked phone in his hand, “but I didn’t think she was telling me the truth…”

 

His words trailed off as he reached his corner, his blown up air mattress ripped to shreds and scattered about the area that once was his home. “Those bastards,” Octavia spoke for him as her brother’s jaw fell, his hands picking up the remains of the posters that he had just hung on the concrete walls the day before. “Why would they destroy Polis?”

 

Murphy entered the room just in time to drop a broken skateboard in the center of the concrete floor, the echo prefacing his words, “because they fucking suck,” before he kicked it to the door that Bellamy had left open, the broken wooden pieces narrowly missing the younger boy’s bike. 

 

I just sat there, watching as my friends gathered the broken shards of their belongings, wondering exactly what they were feeling. It had only taken us two weeks to put this place together, but for the most part, this was all that they had. Unlike me, they didn’t have a house that they returned to every night. They didn’t have a place that they lived and a room filled with stuff that belonged to them. Unlike me, they couldn’t call the police if someone broke into their home.

 

This was their home. But just like them, this was my home too. We had taken two weeks, replacing windows and boarding up holes, using youtube and my mother’s credit card to make this place into our home. Lincoln and I had learned how to fix drywall while Octavia and Lexa figured out how to paint murals and lay concrete. We managed to board up unused rooms and create the ultimate treehouse on the ground, filling it with posters and pictures, battery operated christmas lights and salvaged furniture to make it our own.

 

“Don’t worry,” Lincoln grumbles, walking over to where I stand and crouching beside me, picking up the papers and pictures scattered around and shoving them into my ripped up backpack. “We’ll take care of this.” Lexa emerges from the back, her face still glancing down at the ground as she begins dragging a broom across the floor, picking up the colorful glass with each swipe.

 

Taking the bag from Lincoln, I toss it over my shoulder, turning my attention back to him. “What are you going to do?” I ask, a small amount of fear rising up in my gut as Lincoln turns away, walking over to where Octavia stands. Lincoln is old enough to go to jail-- sometimes I think he forgets this. Sometimes I think we all do.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Princess,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around Octavia’s shoulders and laying his chin on the top of her head. “We have a way of handling things out here on the ground…”

 

“Mother-Fucker!” Lexa interrupts, her left hand jerking back quickly from the dustpan below her, her other arm swinging wildly to keep her balanced in her crouched position. She stares intently at her hand, picking at the red that’s swelling up in her palm, “I fucking cut myself.” She shoves her hand against her lips, sucking gently at her wound as her face looks around the group, embarrassment suddenly writing itself across her expression.

 

Making my way over to her, I tread lightly, avoiding the piles of glass that she has already started forming, leaning down next to her and laying a hand on her knee. “Here,” I mumble, untying the bandana that Lexa had given me from around my wrist. I started donning it after our last adventure at the skatepark just over three weeks ago, the scar on my ankle a reminder of all of the ways that I am still learning the coordination of street skating. The blood stain still remains on the cloth, its pattern mirroring my scar, and in spite of the three times that I sent it through the wash, it’s still just as present. Wrapping the cloth around her hand, I smiled as I gently rubbed her palms, my right thumb stroking circles on her wrist. “Let me finish this,” I add with a smile, taking the broom from her hands as I stand, avoiding the eye contact of those around me.

 

It’s not like they don’t know. I mean, everyone knows. They don’t even bother hinting at it anymore. Octavia has blatantly asked me when I’m going to finally ask Lexa out. Bellamy has mocked me, asking me if we’ve kissed yet. Lincoln asks about what she’s up to when she’s not around as if I’m supposed to know (I always do…). Murphy joked about me not having a bed in Polis because I would just share one with Lexa. But all jokes aside, they all know. They all know that I am completely and undeniably in love with Lexa…

 

But they also all know that I’ll never do anything about it.

 

We’re from different worlds. At the end of the day, I still have to return The Sky Village and have dinner with my mother and dodge conversations about what I’ve done all day and how school is going. At the end of the day, I have to leave Polis and I have to leave The Ground, and at the end of the day, I have to leave Lexa.

 

Bellamy takes a deep breath, running his hands through his shorter hair, exhaling slowly as he begins making his way over to his bike, picking it up and leaning it against the wall before turning back to the group. “So what do we do now?” he asks, his hands resting on his hips under the edge of his shirt.

 

“We start over,” Octavia groans, moving her hands from her own hips to hold tightly to Lincoln’s forearms under her chin. “And we begin planning our counter strike…”

 

“No,” Lexa interrupts, moving from her spot on the floor towards the door. With her back still towards us, I hear the phrase, “We aren’t attacking back,” leave her lips before she  the corner, exiting our make-shift home with nothing else. 

 

Without words, everyone turns to me, their stares drilling holes through my skin, forcing my legs into movement without thought. “I’ve got it,” I say, knowing that there was no other plan anyway. Of course they’d leave it up to me.

 

I follow our commander, leaving the building and trailing closely behind, still giving her enough distance but not allowing her out of my sight. “Go back inside Clarke,” she shouts over her shoulder, her eyes still fixated before her as she reaches the gate. Lifting the broken bottom, she shrugs through the hole leaving Polis entirely. I watch her footprints as we walk, my path still following those converse prints in the red, clay dirt below. “I said go away!” She snaps finally, spinning on her heels just three feet in front of me.

 

“No,” I say, swallowing down every insecurity I have. I don’t really stand up to people-- no, instead, I let them talk shit and I silently wait, watching as karma and cosmic retribution catch up to them… And I especially don’t buck up against Lexa, but something about the way that her shoulders slouch in front of me as she attempts to look strong causes me to puff out my chest, standing tall on my heels as I face her down, inhaling deeply and slowly, exhaling quickly and loudly through my nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask her taking a step closer to her.

 

I notice the surprise on her face as my foot touches down, closing the gap between us even more. “I…” she stumbles, her eyes shifting from side to side as they lower to the dirt below us.

 

I take another step, solidifying my dominance in the situation and asserting myself just a foot away from her. “Why won’t you let me help?” I ask, lifting my hands up and throwing them down beside me, shifting my weight to the side. I can feel the heat steaming around us, the soil below screaming against the sun that is still shining down. “Is it because I’m skai kru?” I ask, her eyes lifting instantly at the mention of my home village. “Or is it because I know that you are too?”

 

“No,” she replies softly, her broken whisper fighting through her shaking head. Her eyes close as she breathes in deeply. “You don’t know me.”

 

“Maybe I don’t,” I explain, basically stomping my foot into the ground below, “but that’s because you won’t let me. You pretend to be all hard and cold to push me away, but you won’t even explain why.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I let my eyes fall to the ground that she’s been staring at this whole time, relinquishing my small amount of control as she lifts her head. “Why won’t you trust me?”

 

She breathes deeply, taking in three solid breaths before stuttering through the words, “I do trust you, Clarke.” Before I can look up to Lexa, the brunette lifts my chin, her soft fingers holding tightly to my jaw, forcing me to face her. She leans in and I do the same without even realizing it until our lips touch, the breath fleeing from my lungs. Her tongue tastes of cigarettes and soda and it inches its way past mine, sliding across the back of teeth before retreating as she pulls away, allowing her hands to fall down beside her. “It’s complicated,” she chokes back finally, turning away before I can stop her.

 

“Lexa,” I beg, reaching out a hand to grab hers, spinning her around to face me and pulling her closer, leaning in to kiss her back. She melts into my arms, her arms finding their way to my back as she follows my lead, pulling me in closer to her until our bodies meet.

 

It’s the kind of moment that lasts forever, but the kind of moment that ends too soon-- kissing her is. But when she pulls away, it becomes even more clear that this moment was fleeting, and more than anything, she just wants to deal with the problems at hand.

 

“Maybe,” she says, her eyes falling to the ground again, “after all of this….”

 

“Yeah,” I put her stumblings to rest, cutting her off before she can finish. “So, how can I help?” I ask, watching her toes dig into the dirt at her feet, pushing a hole into the ground in between us.

 

When she lifts her eyes, I see it for the first time-- the emotions that her words were not going to portray-- the tears building in the pits of her eyes. “They have Aden,” she finally says when one tear escapes, tracing lines down the dust across her face. “He’s one of them…”

 

Within the three seconds it took me to even process her words, Bellamy emerged through the hole in the fence, his black shirt now covered in dust and dried blue spray paint-- the remnants of Azgeda’s attack on us. “What do you mean ‘He’s one of them’?” our friend asked, slowing his stride as he approached us, his finger quotes sarcastically matching his tone. 

  
Lexa sighed, dropping her shoulder and her head all in one motion before speaking again. “Aden is a member of Azgeda,” she says softly, her fingers wringing circles in front of her body. “We can’t retaliate as long as he’s there.”


End file.
